


The Week

by Bombay



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I mean it's Krayfish McFuckface's doing, Kinda?, Prison, Psychological Torture, References to Depression, Stream of Consciousness, Torture, Whump, Wrongful Imprisonment, like passive mild torture, not explicit, thank you for that tag AO3, you have to know it's shit all the way down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bombay/pseuds/Bombay
Summary: What did Galo go through during that week in prison?





	The Week

**Day 1**

Galo's ribs ached from the brunt of the attack, the bruises stiffening up and making everything a thousand times worse. His eyes and face stung, too, caked with salt from drying tears he couldn't wipe away with the cuffs on his wrists. The cuffs they clapped on him after an hour of him pounding on the door, howling like a wolf in pain and frustration and betrayal and hopelessness. Cuffs that sparked burning-cold ice on his pressure points whenever he got too worked up, until the aching cold locked up his fingers and elbows and shoulders.

It was horrible.

But all he could think about was how awful these things were for Burnish. That he'd used them without thinking about what it must feel like. And then he thought of Vulcan, of Kray, of people like them who'd probably just get off on knowing how much torture these things were.

He thought of Kray, and the hate and the anger and the frustration and the pain all bubbled up to the surface again, a pus of ugly emotions spilling from a wound not even close to healing. And the cuffs sparked again, and pain shot from his wrists to his elbows to his shoulders to his spine, but that wasn't where his wails came from.

* * *

**Day 2**

Galo couldn't tell what time it was, not exactly. The light in the corridor was always on, and there weren't any windows at all. He couldn't hear anything aside from the distant sounds of shift changes. He only marginally guessed he'd been there for over 24 hours based on the fact that he'd been given his fourth meal. He didn't know  _ which _ meal it was, because it was always the same bland nutrient slop. His stomach whined for something more substantial, but that only made him think of pizza, which made him think of the pizza guy, which made him want to heave.

He did, the first few times. It was a vicious cycle for about an hour. But then he was empty. And the part of him that cared fell to ash.

* * *

**Day 3**

Galo had more or less gotten used to his imprisonment. Sometimes he wondered what the rest of Burning Rescue had been told, if any of them cared, if maybe they were just glad that the idiot hothead who always ran head-first into the worst blazes was finally out of their hair... Sure, he  _ thought _ they liked him well enough, but he'd thought the same thing about Kray. Maybe they all secretly hated him, too.

_ That's okay _ , he finally thought.  _ I don't need to be liked to do my job _ .

Still, somewhere deep in his gut, he hated the thought of being universally disliked. He let the cuffs freeze the feelings away.

* * *

**Day 4**

Galo was pretty sure he had the beginnings of frostbite on his wrists. Unlike the Burnish, he couldn't just warm up those parts of himself. His skin gave into cold just as easily as it gave in to heat - sure, he had a better tolerance for it than most, but still.

Vulcan stopped by. Galo was almost thankful for the company, however distasteful, but the feeling left as quickly as it nearly came into being. Vulcan showed off a new bullet the R&D department had released to him - "for field testing." He laughed and called Galo a "Burnish-fucker," and that was about all Galo remembered of the interaction.

Because mostly he wanted to say,  _ it won't work on Lio. You'll never freeze him. You'll never win. _ But by the time he'd worked up even a shred of nerve to say anything, Vulcan was gone, his disgusting laughter echoing down the corridor.

Galo just wanted to shove a thousand of those fucking bullets up Vulcan's ass. And then he wanted to shove a million of them up Kray's ass. And then a wave of unbidden guilt socked him square in the chest, knocking out a strangled, pained sob, and he was sure the frostbite was getting worse.

* * *

**Day 5**

Galo sincerely didn't know what day it was. He'd lost count of the meals, and his sleep was infrequent and fitful. He was tired. His  _ everything _ was tired. He never understood being this tired doing nothing until now. But he couldn't sleep. Sleeping just made him more tired.

So he took to talking. He tried to talk to the guards he could just barely hear. He tried to talk to any other prisoners in the corridor. But mostly he just sang horribly and off-key, letting the acoustics of the empty room amplify his shitty tune and shittier lyrics.

He didn't know how long he kept it up, but it was long enough to make his throat sore and his voice hoarse. So he stopped.

* * *

**Day 6**

Galo convinced himself that he was the last man on earth. That somehow, Kray had gotten his ship going, that he'd warped with his ten-thousand lucky souls, that all the Burnish were dead and gone, and he'd failed, utterly  _ failed _ protecting any of them, and he was only alive because he was locked away in a metal box, like some kind of long-forgotten leftovers in the tupperware in the back of the freezer.

And the thought filled him with...nothing.

At least his meals were automatic.

* * *

**Day 7**

Galo got a visitor. Heris wasn't exactly the face he  _ most _ wanted to see, but she wasn't unwelcome, at least.

Especially after she unlocked the cuffs. He finally spoke, but his heart outweighed his mind, and he asked about her, about her sister, about the trust she's betraying. Galo lost his idol - he couldn't bear to see Aina lose hers.

But Heris had made her choice and steeled her resolve. And Galo was filled with the certainty that  _ she was wrong _ , and he so very badly wanted to correct it, but at the same time, he admired it - even in the face of ugliness and despair, she still clung to what mattered the most to her.

And fuck, if Heris could keep that resolve in the face of  _ literal war crimes _ , then he could keep his. Assuming he'd be able to get out of the stupid cell before all hell broke loose. Because it didn't fucking matter what his resolve was made of if he couldn't make the rescue in time.

But when the air trembled half a second before the ground shook, he somehow knew it wasn't Parnassus. It was something far more primal that shook him to his very core and woke something up in him - something like his burning firefighter's spirit, but... _ more _ .

And the building crashed and crumbled and Galo laid eyes on the culprit, and everything about it struck Galo as a literal, physical manifestation of all the dark and ugly feelings welling up inside him. But what came out of his mouth was,

"Lio...?"

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up all night reading Promare fic and then barfed this out in the morning. There will be a sequel that's...hopefully better written than this. But this needed to get out of me, because I haven't really seen people talk about Galo's Lost Week.


End file.
